


Refraction

by amiphobic



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiphobic/pseuds/amiphobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Definition: The turning or bending of any wave when it passes from one medium to another of different density. It's those goddamn glasses, they get you every time. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refraction

**Author's Note:**

> There are definitely a few vague spoilers, so if you haven't finished the first season, just a heads up. This show is so addicting that I just had to write something. Hopefully you'll enjoy it.

It’s those damn glasses. They get you every time.

You know it, and you suspect she knows it as well.

But she looks at you with such _heat_ in her dusky grey eyes and it doesn’t matter what you’ve promised your fiancé (Larry, you remember belatedly). Her fingers play along the hinges of her plain black rims, contemplating her options. Then she smiles and slips the glasses off, and you’re a goner.

Realistically – no, assuredly – you know that you’re lonely; tears pinprick the corners of your eyes when her hand brushes your back casually. So yes, you’re using her for comfort, for a warm embrace, yes, all of that. But she’s using you too. How else can you explain her lingering glances? Her cocky smiles? The way she removes her frames?

She steps forward, and you wonder if that’s your only defense; that she wants this too. Her glasses dangle from her right hand, reflecting small stripes of rainbow onto the ceiling.

* * *

 

The first night you ever spent with her was well over ten years ago, but you remember most of the details vividly. It’s one of those unforgettable events (but not one for the grandchildren).

You recall poorly-hidden amusement adorning her face after you’d taken a couple of shots. She had pulled you into her, so that your legs went around hers and you’d ended up straddling her. You’re sure that her eyes were sparkling green in that moment. Then she kissed you, firmly and without hesitation, and you remember her confidence seeping into your veins. Her hands trailed down your form to grip tightly at your legs as she deepened the kiss. But distinctly, you think of how the rough pads of her fingertips slid up your inner thigh and towards their goal.

Your breath fogged her glasses, temporarily blinding her, but she had laughed it off.

* * *

 

Surely there are more important things on your mind than screwing your ex-girlfriend’s brains out. Oddly, everything begins to pale in comparison to her company. It’d be cliché (and dishonest) of you to say that the two of you click. No, the truth is that she doesn’t mesh well with you. It’s like oil and water, except both of you are sinking to the bottom. But she’s right, that there’s a connection you can’t quite break.

As she nibbles on the temple tips of her black frames, you watch her carefully; each arch of an eyebrow, every tiny and (almost) imperceptible crease of her eyes, tells you all you need to know. You’re not a master of reading Alex Vause, but you might be on your way.

“Stop staring at me,” she whispers, but she doesn’t mean it (not if her tone is anything to go by).

You don’t respond, just continue to examine every small movement of hers. Finally her eyes meet yours, clear and grey today, and she pauses. She’s not a naturally hesitant person; Alex is a do-er, not a wait-er. But it’s that miniscule hitch in her breath that gives her away.

“Creep,” she teases, a smirk crawling across her lips. You react with a matching smile.

She sets her glasses to the side before leaning in to brush her mouth against yours, a rush of warmth filling your lungs.

* * *

 

You’d always thought of a knight unsheathing his sword as a proper equivalent to her removal of her specs. It’s her preparation for battle, the sharpening of her claws. You remember the first time she pinned you with anger, how all the oxygen in the room seemed to drain away into her stormy eyes. There has always been something gorgeous about her anger (perhaps it’s the dangerous emotion). Her brows angle downwards giving her a sharper look and a predator’s gaze. She seems to swell with the indignation, straightening her back, making her taller (at least in your eyes). But what you love (and hate) is the way she swipes the black frames away from her face in one fluid motion.

The first time she’d done that in an argument, you had felt your chest deflate and your palms grow sweaty. Her words came faster and harsher, her tone acerbic. Her face, bare of the familiar bordering black circles, looked intensely focused on the matter at hand. You had shut her up with the only way you knew how to – by fusing your lips against hers, panicked.

You never forget that underneath those dark rims there’s someone who has the power to tear you apart.

* * *

 

But another part of you considers a shield, a defense, as the appropriate analogy. She was so put together, so calm, most of the time. It was like nothing affected her really. She was so coolly detached from other people (her colleagues, she called them), watching them and interacting with them (but only barely). Sometimes she was like that with you too, but only in public.

Behind closed (and locked for good measure) doors, away from the prying eyes, she was softer and more relaxed. And then she’d rub her temples, and slowly take off her glasses, setting them down gently. And it was like she was shedding the armor, leaving the brave façade trailing behind her. She’d bury her face into your neck and sigh, letting all pretenses wash away. Your arms would encircle her body tenderly.

You never forget that beneath her black frames is someone you have the power to tear apart.

* * *

 

It’s easy to pretend that there’s nothing else when it’s just the two of you. It’s easy to shut all that other nonsense out. There’s no fiancé, no prison guards, no rules. There’s only her hot exhales against your core which elicit a quiet (muffled) groan that just manages to escape your clenched teeth. Your hips jolt upwards as her tongue flicks out in a particularly strong stroke, and for a moment you think the Christian meth-head might be right because you might’ve just seen God.

As your fingers tangle tightly in her dark dark hair, you can feel her grin between your thighs, a smile branding your skin. Her glasses are laid haphazardly on the floor, far away from her, the scotch tape barely holding the two pieces together. She looks up at you as her mouth works slowly, her arm supporting your lifted leg.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming.” It’s the only words that make any sense to you right now.

She’s deliberate and collected as she shushes you, “Show, don’t tell.”

You think she’s the tape that’s only just managing to keep you in one piece in here.

* * *

 

Refraction is key to how lenses work.

You’d tried to explain it to her once, but she had rolled her eyes and exclaimed in an exasperated voice, “You college girls!”

But refraction is applicable to many things other than just optometry.

Refraction: the phenomenon of light, radio waves, etc., being deflected in passing obliquely through the interface between one medium and another or through a medium of varying density. (But that’s according the Oxford dictionary.) If people are mediums, then Larry and Alex most likely have almost completely different densities. Does that make you the wave of light? You’re set on slow speed with Larry, steady and safe, everything about your future is secure. But Alex might as well be a hyper speed, wresting all control away, and it’s all fun and games until it’s not. You’re one direction with him, but a completely opposite one with her.

Her eyes are thoughtful grey when she looks at you now. But she’s still not the density that you (maybe) need.

“I feel like I’m twenty-three and nothing has changed,” the words slip from your lips. She looks at you accusingly for a moment, like _nothing had to change if you hadn’t left_.

She’s right, even if she won’t say it.

* * *

 

But when it comes down to it, when you have to choose between _him_ and _her_ , it’s not a simple theory of refraction; emotional chaos really isn’t your strong suit.

You picked him the first time, didn’t you? (Not him, exactly, but definitely not her.) You wanted to settle down, to become the nice blonde woman you were supposed to be; you wanted the Chinese takeout. If you’d gone with her, if you’d flown back to her home, if you’d watch her mourn her mother, you just knew you’d never be able to leave her. You’d never be able to pull away again, not after something like that.

Her piercing grey eyes had seen through you, asking _who are you_? You didn’t know then and you still don’t know now. For all your protests that you’ve changed since ten years ago, you realize you haven’t. You still want to be that nice blonde lady with the perfect doting husband, and Alex doesn’t fit into the picture. Not at all.

And you choose him again.

(You don’t even contemplate what it’d be like to choose her. You definitely don’t think about how, when you’re released she’ll still be in Litchfield, or how you’ll be the one making the weekly visits, or how _right_ it could be.)

* * *

 

You watch her from across the cafeteria, your khaki uniform weighing heavily on your shoulders. She removes her glasses precariously, balancing the bridge on the tip of her finger. It’s not a weapon or a shield this time, but an admission of defeat.

The victory is meaningless to you.

She slides the frames back onto her face and her expression hardens. When she looks at you, something in your gut coils, ready to strike. Oh, yes, you’re in love with her, you know. In love with everything she is even though you shouldn’t- you can’t…

It’s those goddamn glasses, you think. They get you every time.

Even now.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Changed to one-shot. It works fine as a standalone piece. Sorry and thanks.


End file.
